“Allow me to honor Pax-mon,” said Zamani, placing his sweetpot on the table. As deft fingers unfastened the conical lid, he added, “Sweet for your lof.”

Each took turns dipping lof in Zamani's sweet, and exclamations of delight filled the hall. As his hosts were absorbed in the nhola treat, Zamani took the opportunity to liberally sprinkle the tasteless porridge with moost.

“Absolutely amazing,” Pax intoned. “Daughter, give the pot back to our guest.”

Teefa asked, “Where do you get this?”

“Sweetchur,” answered Zamani. Then, noting her blank stare, he added, “It is a creature of the forest. It carries Sweet on its back because it has no hive.”

“And the powder you put in your tay?” That was Pax.

“A crushed plant: moost. Would you like some?”

“Oh my!” said Teefa, “Is your tay not to taste? We have sayl.”

As Zamani passed moost to Pax, he received sayl from Teefa and tasted from the palm. It was very bitter.

Pax spoke between slats of newly seasoned porridge, “This is quite different. Very good. Life in the forest must be every bit as fulfilling as ours.” He sprinkled moost in Teefa's porridge, then in Xarhn's before returning it. Conversation ceased as all devoured their porridge with pleased noises.

“Ummn!” said Pax.

“Ummn!” said Teefa.

“Ooh!” said Xarhn.

“Mmn!” Zamani agreed. He placed his sweet for all to share; all dipped lof, and finally, the morn meal was washed down with thick, pleasantly cool milksap.

“Well, I simply cannot breathe,” said Pax. He leaned back on one hand and rubbed his diminutive pait with the other. “I must burst, I think.”

Teefa laughed lightly, her response a recitation: “Oh, you always say that. You just like to eat.” Pax and Zamani shared a smile; Xarhn scooted closer, and Teefa turned to prompt her guest. “You must have rich food, indeed, among the nholas.”

Pax replied, “Gem of my soul, the food we have is more than adequate.”

Then Teefa turned to scold her own, “We would have better if the pyre was not so weak. Yes, we do well enough now, but what shall we do when it has altogether died?”

A young voice called from outside, “Teefa? Teefa?”

“Come,” Pax called. “Step in.”

A girl rushed in. Her dress was the usual long-sleeved work gown, but for the small slatted mantle on the left shoulder. She was winded from running, and anxious. Though Xarhn's size, and comely, Zamani did not like her - something about the eyes warned him of a small and fearful soul.

Teefa stood to take the child in hand, asking, “Shirpa, dear, what has you flooded so?”

“I ran all the way,” wheezed the girl. “Norsith calls you; Rikchi's time is at hand. You must come.”

Shirpa darted an anxious glance toward Zamani, but quickly returned her attention to Teefa. The mother put both hands to her mouth in wonder. Flooding brown, she faced her husband and bounced on her toes excitedly. Smiling, Pax stood and drew Teefa into his arms.

“A new one,” she gasped. “A child! I must hurry!”

Teefa and the girl rushed out, followed by Pax. Xarhn giggled happily. Zamani gathered his shroomsack.

“Tell me of the pyre gem,” said he.

“I’ll show you.”

She uncovered a metal cage that had been stored below the wall steps. Zamani knelt beside her. This being his first time to actually see a failing pyre, he was filled with genuine admiration for all of them. They lasted for many lifetimes, but sadly, they could not last forever. The cage was old; the solid top was blackened. The fist-sized gem was affixed in the center. A gentle fire turned within the stone's orange interior. Zamani reached out to feel the heat of it. He looked at the girl close beside him, and they smiled.

“It’s dying,” said Pax from behind them. He leaned over them and added, “Soon, it will give neither heat nor light.”

Zamani asked, “Where do they come from?”

“We traded for them - before the battle. Our Peck cousins mined them beyond the hels. Had you no pyres in Zhereen?”

“I suppose; I was small. Can you get more?”

“The mine was closed. None knows where it lies.”

Zamani said of the gem, “You lose heat at the sides.”

The mon-Sith answered patiently, “We also use our gem for light.”

Xarhn added, “But, it takes most of the night to bake our lof.”

“Then, I would use fire,” Zamani advised.

“Fire?” repeated Pax. “Explain.”

“When I cook in the nholas, I use fire. Have you no zeowax?”

“Yes, of course,” answered Pax, somewhat at a loss. “We have some airing in back.”

“Airing? Why?”

Xarhn answered, “We have to air it for three days to be rid of the awful smell.” She turned large eyes to her father for confirmation.

Pax nodded. “That is correct.”

Zamani stood up suddenly. He said, “I will show you something.” From his bag, he produced a small pot and two fire stones, beckoning all to sit, watch, and be amazed. In grand fashion, the pot of zeowax was opened and passed beneath noses.

“Eeyoo!” said Xarhn, covering her nose.

“Zeowax,” admitted Pax.

“Now, watch and understand.”

Zamani placed the pot on the table. He took up the fire stones, one in each hand, and struck them over the pot. A lapping blue flame appeared. He had to laugh, for wonder was in their eyes, and surprise had turned their foreheads white.

“Now hold your hands over it,” he commanded. “Feel the heat.”

“Ouch!” cried Xarhn.

“Simply amazing,” Pax intoned. “If we replaced the gems with this . . .”

“Fire,” Zamani added.

“How quickly we might bake our lof.”

“True,” answered Zamani. “Yet, quicker still could you bake it if you made a heat box of slate and sealed both fire and lof within.”

The two were speechless at his proposal. Zamani watched their eyes follow his treasures into the shroomsack. He sensed he had risen in their esteem, and that enlarged his heart with the joy of conquest. It filled him with the superior mirth of a king in the casual exercise of his power. He felt . . . benevolent.

He said to Pax, “I will find fire stones for you this very eve.”

Pax gaped; a question cried out to be asked. Xarhn gave answer. “Flynts, father; they aren’t a myth.”

With a shake of his head, Pax managed to speak. “Indeed. Indeed,” he said. He stood and faced an open room, lost in thought, then presently, he turned and kissed his daughter's cheek. He smiled and rubbed his belly. “Midday draws,” he said. “You two must make for school. As for me, I must make for the privy.”

As Pax departed, Xarhn turned to Zamani with widening eyes. Having been made aware of the depth of day, she raced about the table, straightening and putting away. She quickly brought the mon to a semblance of order, then returned to Zamani with sparkling black eyes and brown skin.

“I’m excited,” she exhaled.

“You’re a silkhead,” was Zamani's response.